


Years in the Making

by WretchedArtifact



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Multi, Post-Canon, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:21:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29261154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WretchedArtifact/pseuds/WretchedArtifact
Summary: After years of sleeping with Chris separately, Victor and Yuuri finally sleep with him together.
Relationships: Christophe Giacometti/Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 7
Kudos: 94
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	Years in the Making

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dzesi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dzesi/gifts).



Victor didn’t even last an hour in bed with Yuuri and Chris. “It’s been a long day,” Victor protested, panting, as Yuuri dismounted and carefully rolled the condom off of Victor’s spent cock. “The free skate took more out of me than I thought.”

“It’s all right, dear,” Chris said, rolling onto his back on the hotel bedspread. His cock bobbed stiffly upright, somehow still standing two orgasms in. “Yuuri and I know you’re getting up there in years.”

Victor seethed momentarily—you’d think he was pushing seventy instead of thirty—but Chris pulled over a pillow and lifted up his arm, inviting Victor to burrow close. He knew Victor got clingy during the afterglow, and Victor didn’t have enough pride to pretend otherwise. He moved over immediately, making himself at home in the crook of Chris’s arm, and watched as Yuuri threw out the old condom and rolled a fresh one down on Chris’s cock. Yuuri glanced up at the two of them—Chris with his head on the pillow, Victor with his head resting on Chris’s shoulder, both watching him expectantly—and said, “I don’t know if I can do this if both of you are just lying there staring at me.”

Yuuri was funny like that—sometimes he wanted the eyes of the world locked on him, and sometimes even familiar eyes were too much. “If you want to face the other way, we wouldn’t complain about the view,” Chris said.

To Victor’s surprise, that seemed to work for Yuuri; he rotated around so he was facing away from the two of them and sank down on Chris’s cock. Victor’s own cock was too spent to react, but the sight of Chris’s shaft disappearing inch by inch between the muscular globes of Yuuri’s ass was so agonizingly hot that Victor knew the image would be seared into his brain for weeks. With two inches to go, Yuuri’s strong thigh muscles tensed, and he paused, his breathing loud in the quiet hotel room. Then with a noise of determined exertion he eased himself down until he’d taken all of it, holding himself there for a few seconds of uncomfortable fullness before levering his thighs up again.

“Good God,” Chris murmured, tipping his head to the side and resting his cheek against the top of Victor’s head. Victor had one arm slung over Chris’s bare midsection, and he could feel the lift and fall of each breath Chris took. They were starting to come faster as Yuuri slowly moved up and down on his cock, preliminary, exploratory, the view of his bare back and strong thighs and pronounced ass so gorgeous that Victor almost couldn’t take it. The only flaw in that perfect picture was a very slight asymmetry in Yuuri’s posture: he had slid one knee forward on the bed so he wouldn’t risk bumping it against Chris’s left hip. Years ago—how many had it been, five? Six?—Chris had injured that hip mid-season, and even though it was perfectly healed now, it was ingrained in Victor to treat it carefully when they slept together. The fact that it was also ingrained in _Yuuri_ to treat it carefully, without Chris needing to mention it, made Victor feel a little strange and—he didn’t like to admit it to himself, but—a little jealous. Chris had known Yuuri so much longer than Victor had.

Chris reached out and palmed Yuuri’s hip, letting his hand travel with Yuuri’s rise and fall. He turned his head slightly and kissed Victor’s forehead. “I’m glad we’re doing this,” he said, a low burr of satisfaction in his voice. “I’ve missed you two.”

Victor wedged himself even deeper into the crook of Chris’s arm and lifted his head so they were face to face. “Who did you miss more?” Victor asked, a hint of teasing petulance in his voice.

Chris didn’t rise to the bait. “Needy little thing,” he said, and leaned in for a kiss. Victor gave him one: slow, sensual, familiar. “You know I miss all my far-flung lovers equally.”

“And how many lovers is that?”

“Fewer than you’re thinking,” Chris said, “but more than the media could handle if word got out.”

The steadily increasing pace of Yuuri’s riding stopped, and Yuuri lifted himself up off Chris’s cock and rotated back around so he was facing them. Victor could tell immediately that a switch had been flipped inside him: he wanted their attention now, was perhaps feeling a little neglected by their side talk. “Victor,” Yuuri said, and the petulance in _his_ voice sounded sincerely felt. “Watch me.”

Those words vibrated through every wispy filament of Victor’s nervous system and produced the same effect they always did: a tense, squeezing eagerness deep in his gut. Yuuri could say pretty much anything in that low, demanding tone and Victor would agree to it; if Yuuri was saying _watch me_ , Victor would watch.

Yuuri impaled himself on Chris’s cock, swiftly, so swiftly that Victor heard the uncharacteristically surprised hitch of Chris’s breath. The time for preliminaries was clearly over; Yuuri started fucking himself on Chris’s cock in earnest, thighs levering powerfully up and down, his face and chest and shoulders flushed with exertion. It was impressive enough to feel unfair: Yuuri had skated a program full of quads earlier that day, had come twice already, and he was still rock-hard, eager, tireless. _“I miss all my far-flung lovers equally,_ ” Chris had said, but now his back was arching slightly on the bed, one hand riding on the bounce of Yuuri’s hips, his eyes lidded and his breath panting. He had to miss Yuuri more than he missed Victor. It didn’t even bother Victor to think about it—who could resist Yuuri’s beauty, his athleticism, the dark demanding flash of his eyes?

Yuuri leaned forward, hips still bouncing fiercely on Chris’s lap, and dropped a kiss onto Chris’s open mouth. Chris’s lips clung to his for only a second before sighing open again, drawing in sharp, affected breaths, and Yuuri’s face drifted sideways a little, hovering over Victor’s. For a terrible second, Victor thought Yuuri wasn’t going to kiss him—was going to just hang there tantalizingly while Victor suffered—but then Yuuri’s mouth fastened over his, hungry and familiar.

Yuuri had their attention. The moment he’d wanted it, he’d taken it, as easy as anything. It was the same thing he’d done in Sochi, when he’d drowned his self-consciousness in champagne and attracted the eyes of everyone in the room with his dancing. “That was incredible,” Victor had said to Chris at the end of the night, when Yuuri left with his coach and Victor’s excited heartbeat was finally starting to slow. “He’s usually so quiet. I didn’t know he had it in him.”

Chris’s smile was sly and fond. “Oh, I knew.”

Victor should’ve realized what that innuendo meant—because Chris was sly with everyone, but he was only fond with a few. But it wasn’t until after the Cup of China, after Victor and Yuuri’s first heady week together as a couple, that Victor learned the surprising truth: Yuuri and Chris had done more than just dance together over the years. “Did you know that he and I were also...?” Victor asked Yuuri.

Yuuri, already flushed with embarrassment, had gone an even deeper shade of red. “He hinted at it, once,” Yuuri said.

Victor had known he wasn’t Chris’s only competition-season paramour, but Chris never named the others, and Victor never asked. It was nicer to pretend, during those lonely years of his winning streak, that Chris’s bed was neutral ground, free of competition or comparison. Which, Victor knew now, had been a total fantasy—because Yuuri was driving Chris toward a third orgasm shockingly fast, the roll of his hips practiced and purposeful, fueled by a stamina that Victor definitely didn’t have. Of course Chris had probably compared his lovers. He was a sweetheart, and surprisingly discreet for someone who flirted as widely and shamelessly as he did, but he was only human.

Lying there, Victor tamped down the tiniest squiggle of jealousy and did what he was told: he watched. Chris had his eyes squeezed shut, one hand gripping the side of Yuuri’s thigh, and Yuuri had straightened his back and tilted his head up towards the ceiling, the flush of exertion glowing on his chest and neck as he rode Chris’s cock. His own untouched cock bobbed stiffly against his stomach, begging for a hand around it, but Victor could tell Yuuri was too focused on Chris to want the distraction. Underneath the weight of Victor’s arm, Chris’s midsection was heaving with breath, and between that and his tight-shut eyes and arching back, Victor knew the end was near. He drew his arm back and flattened his hand against Chris’s bare chest, caressing, watching.

Yuuri’s head lowered for a moment, and his eyes met Victor’s. And there it was again: that deep, squeezing thrill in Victor’s gut, just at the sight of Yuuri’s commanding eyes. “Kiss him,” Yuuri ordered, and Victor did it without a single particle of protest in his mind, cupping Chris’s face in his hand and swallowing up his gasps.

Chris came with Victor’s lower lip sucked into his mouth, a sharp groan caught in his throat as his whole body tensed. Victor heard the fleshy slap of Yuuri’s thighs against Chris’s continue for a few more seconds, and then Chris made a noise of exhausted protest and the sound stopped. “Good _God_ ,” Chris breathed into Victor’s mouth, then turned his head away and took in several panting lungfuls of air. Victor turned his head to look at Yuuri: Yuuri was raking his own lower lip between his teeth, looking down at the two of them with clear satisfaction.

Then Victor saw it happen: the switch flipped inside Yuuri again. Self-consciousness visibly shifted his posture; the satisfied look on his face started to fade. Victor sat up from his nest in the crook of Chris’s arm and said, “All right, trade with me, Yuuri,” and with a briskness that brooked no argument he guided Yuuri off of Chris’s cock and into the warm spot against Chris’s side.

Chris did what anyone would do with an armful of Katsuki Yuuri: he pulled him in close and gave him a deep kiss, the satisfied rumble in his throat bordering on a purr. Victor tactfully took care of the latest condom, and when he climbed back into bed he pressed himself bossily against Yuuri’s back. “Chris, I’m sure you’re exhausted,” Victor said, snaking one arm around Yuuri and letting his hand settle on the perfect curve of Yuuri’s cock. “Why don’t you relax and let me take things from here?”

“Victor,” Yuuri said dryly, but despite the faint scolding tone he relaxed backward a little, sinking his weight against Victor’s front. Victor started to stroke him with a practiced hand; Victor had a _lot_ of practice with finishing Yuuri off in ways that didn’t involve his own cock, given the differences in their respective stamina.

“Hmm, I detect a hint of jealousy,” Chris said, but his voice was fond and his eyes were knowing. He stroked his hand up Yuuri’s thigh, over Victor’s arm. “You’re sure you don’t want help? Two pairs of hands are better than one.”

Victor saw the suggestive sparkle in Chris’s eye, and curiosity got the better of him. “What do you have in mind?”

Chris half-sat up in bed and guided one of Yuuri’s legs up, so his knee was bent and his heel was propped against his calf. Then he reached between Yuuri’s legs, and while Victor couldn’t see what Chris was doing, the sudden tensing of Yuuri’s body told Victor that Chris had probably slid a few of his very talented fingers inside him. Chris looked at Victor with one eyebrow raised, and Victor realized he was waiting for Victor’s go-ahead.

Victor nodded, and Yuuri hissed out something in Japanese as both of their hands started to move, on him and inside him. Victor’s stroking hand and Chris’s pumping fingers managed to find a rhythm together, and soon Yuuri was writhing in between them, groaning, their combined efforts making much shorter work of him than they would have alone. When Yuuri came, the note of exhausted pleasure in his voice sounded almost surprised, like even he hadn’t expected to spill over in Victor’s hand so quickly.

While Yuuri didn’t necessarily get clingy in the afterglow, Victor was clingy enough to make up for it, and soon all three of them were exhaustedly entwined together on the hotel bedspread, heavy and sated. “Well?” Chris asked, running a slow fingertip up and down Victor’s arm. “What did you think?”

Yuuri had his eyes closed and his face mashed against Victor’s shoulder. “I liked it,” he said, muffled.

Chris and Victor shared an amused look over his head, and then Chris raised his eyebrow again. A silent question. “I liked it too,” Victor said, and meant it. “I missed you.”

Chris’s tracing fingertip turned into a squeeze of Victor’s arm. “You know, we could’ve done this years ago,” Chris said. “I remember the first time all three of us were at the same competition. Yuuri came over to my room, and instead of foreplay he broke into a Shakespearean monologue about how brilliant your short program was—”

Yuuri huffed softly. “You asked me what I thought about the competition.”

“And you answered my question very thoroughly,” Chris said. “And I said, you know, if you like Victor so much, just say the word and I’ll invite him over to join us.”

That must've been what Yuuri meant when he said Chris had hinted at his relationship with Victor before. God, imagine if that had happened—if Victor had met Yuuri years earlier, back when the weight of his winning streak was first starting to grind him down. Imagine if he had met Yuuri like _that:_ not as two flirty, giddy dancers in the middle of a stuffy banquet, but as two strangers in Chris’s bed. The thought made Victor’s stomach give a woozy, uncertain lurch. “And what did you say?” Victor asked Yuuri.

“I said _no,_ ” Yuuri said, like the answer should’ve been obvious. “I wanted to skate with you, not sleep with you.”

The words filtered through Victor warmly. “Well,” he said. “I’m glad you opened your mind to doing both, eventually.”

Yuuri pressed a drowsy kiss against his shoulder, and Chris’s thumb rubbed softly against Victor’s arm. “I think this was the right order to do things,” Chris said. “It’s nice to see you happy.”

Victor lifted his arm and pressed a kiss against the back of Chris’s hand. Chris had been there during the unhappy years; Chris knew, better than anyone, how stark the difference was between then and now.

“It’s nice to be happy,” Victor said.


End file.
